Beneath the Moon
by Gray-Rain Skies
Summary: AU. He was there and only hers under the starlight. [RoxasOlette]


For lunamaria's "**Fields of Hope**" contest.

_Finally_, I get to write the RoxasOlette AU I'd been thinking about. Whoo! So I hope you liked it, and that it doesn't completely suck.

Disclaimer: No, I don't.

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He was a boy she vaguely knew from "some place or another", a boy she loved to see smile as he passed her bench every evening in his walk through the park. He was a boy who knew "so and so" and was thus thrust in her live on sudden occasions, left to smile awkwardly and self-consciously as both were forced to mingle and create small-talk at small, stiff dinner parties put on by theirs and other rich families. 

He was a boy with blonde hair going in unruly directions, who was quiet and sweet and shy, who had sharp blue eyes that portrayed a wounded soul, and who had an adorable smile.

And he was a taken boy, with perfection on his arm almost everywhere he went. Perfection that was petite, pretty, and blonde, making her seem so insignificant and plain whenever she glided past her sorry form with innate grace and beauty.

And so she was left to be envious, knowing that the boy whom she got to know slowly but oh-so-well was never to be hers because he was in love with perfection.

She sighed so softly, watching him yet again round that gentle curve in the path overshadowed by trees, the setting sun glinting and making her narrow her eyes slightly as it impacted her vision. And he walked closer to her, his form aglow in the twilight, his crooked smile in place as he stopped before her, tilting his head and asking if he'd done something wrong, because she was glaring.

She looked up, flushed, and then shook her head, passing it off as nothing. But he turned his body toward her, made a smart comment, and then fired up her real side, so that she wasn't so timid and was actually holding her own in the argument they were currently having.

The argument that soon turned out into a conversation of life and love and fate, with him sitting beside her on the bench with his hands on his knees and she with her arms resting so comfortably close she could almost touch him.

But she didn't, because he was forbidden, and she just wasn't that kind of girl.

"Ever want to get out of here and go places?"

She turned to look at him, rolling her eyes but smiling all the same. "Depends. Are you paying for my train ticket?"

He looked at her and grinned, seeming actually delighted to be with her, to get a taste of her sense of humor. And she flushed, rather flattered that she sparked this kind of happiness in him, but also feeling guilty that she was doing just that. She looked down into her lap, scolding herself for not being able to let her smile fall.

"Olette, right?"

She looked back up at him, green eyes wide as they peered into his blue ones through brown bangs. And then her smile widened and she nodded.

He'd remembered from their last meeting.

"I'm surprised you remember, Roxas."

Again, he looked genuinely pleased as she spoke to him. "You're not so forgettable." And he stood up, wishing her a good day, saying he'd meet her again tomorrow if she really wanted to talk to him again.

She said she'd think about it, all sarcastic and teasing to get him to laugh, but, really, she knew there was nothing to think about. She wanted to see him.

She wanted to be with him.

She closed her eyes and leaned back on the bench. She was a horrible person, wasn't she?

And so she got to know that unattainable boy. In the day, as she went to her job, traveled through the city streets, she experienced the bitter taste in her mouth whenever she saw the two together grow, because they looked so happy, so perfect, so meant-to-be. As well a painfully constricting feeling made her feel as if something were wrong with her heart whenever she heard his laugh, the goose-bumps trailing along her skin. She didn't like to see them together, no matter how wretched a thought that was. But then at night, underneath the stars, the moon – because they'd talk so long about experiences and everything they could think of – he was hers, only hers, and she was happier than she'd been before.

But guilty. Always guilty. Because he wasn't _really _hers.

How she wanted him to be, though.

Upon those meetings, after the twilight-stricken sky melted and cooled into a star-strewn night, they'd leave that bench where it all began and just walk, side by side – no hand-holding, she painfully noted – and murmur thoughts and feelings – never _those _feelings for her, though – to each other, exchange small smiles, and even laugh and push each other playfully, because they were friends now, and they cared for each other. But every touch, every smile, every softened gaze sent her pulse beating at a maddening speed, and she thought she was going to go insane, she cared about him so.

So she just kept telling herself that Roxas was not hers, that she was stupid for thinking about him that way, that she was so utterly inferior to the girl he loved. And that sobered her into depression, so that Roxas had to voice his queries a million times before she'd bid him good-night and leave him confused as she ran home in tears.

Only, those thoughts didn't stop her from one day falling in love with him.

She'd thought to one day go to the park early, to sort out her feelings, to put things rationally, to _think _instead of _feel _so she'd have the courage to tell him off and no longer be pained by the union of her affection and blonde perfection. So she'd gone out **that one day, on a green morning**, the leaves glistening in the morning light and the park for the most part devoid of people. She'd walked the path, feeling the tears burn at her eyes and the blood rush to her cheeks as she thought of him, and she kept telling herself over and over, rationally putting it, that she would "never be with him." She would "never be good enough for him." She was "nothing to him." It was a mantra of self-destruction, and she forced herself to lower her self-esteem so much – and how she _hated _to look upon those so ruined by self-esteem, so she felt like a hypocrite as well – that she'd in the end chase away all thoughts and feelings of him.

But it was doomed to fail from the start, because she'd met him, and she'd never, ever forget him. And, even worse, he was there, under a tree** on the lonely fields, a little light shining** onto his form, making him look angelic. And she put her hand to her mouth, her heart racing so fast she thought she would die, because it hurt so much and she couldn't breathe.

But no. That was love. He left her breathless even when all he did was bask in the glow of morning sunlight.

And he was **so dear, and yet so far **to her, because now she loved him and would never regain her sanity, because he would always be "just a friend" and would always be with blonde perfection.

And how she cried when she returned home and shut the door, sinking to the floor of her apartment.

She still met him though, at night, because she was hung up on Roxas and needed his gentle voice and awkward gestures of _friendly _affection and little movements that only associated with him and _everything else about him_. She loved him now, she really did, and so she was so, so angry with the blonde, petite, beautiful girl who was probably sweet and kind and appreciated this boy as much as she did.

And how she wanted to throw her arms around him and beg him to see, see that she cared and was dying because she was so insignificant but wanted him to love her, see that she was dying because every time his lips moved she thought of kissing them, thought of how soft they would be against her own lips. And as she looked away from him quickly, tears in her eyes and a sob in the back of her throat, she knew she couldn't do this anymore and knew she was killing herself…

But she couldn't let him go.

She just needed to know…

"Hey, Roxas. All this talk about love, and you never tell me about your love life," she said, oh-so-calmly and everything when really she was shredding her heart to pieces and it hurt so _much_.

He looked at her and away, stuttering and blushing as he rubbed the back of his head, looking as adorable as can be in the glow of the hollow moonlight.

"C'mon," she teased, elbowing him in the side, the very contact making her heart jump. "Who's the lucky girl, _hmm_?"

He shook his head and didn't answer, refusing to look at her. She sighed, dejected, and hung her head, biting her lip so miserably. She at least wanted to know the name of the girl to see if _anything _was ugly about her, which she sincerely doubted anyway.

If only she could hate someone she didn't know. It would make it so much easier.

"I'd better go," she said with false cheer, whirling around to stop in front of him, grinning up into his face. Only, his expression was so sober, and his eyes were so distant, that she doubted he'd heard her.

She waved her hand in front of his face, smile falling. He was thinking of her again, wasn't he? His angel. Even the _thought _of her was so much better than plain, old Olette.

But his gloved hand grasped her wrist and she couldn't stop the blush that passed her lips, couldn't help but stare in wide-eyed incredulity as he lowered his eyes and kicked the grass, appearing sheepish. His fingers wound through her own and he was basically holding her hand –albeit somewhat awkwardly – as she stood immobile, frozen in time by his spell.

"If you mean who I think you mean, a certain blonde girl I'm often with…"

She gasped, and then covered her mouth with her free hand as his eyes met hers and he smiled slightly.

"If you mean Naminé…"

_Naminé. _So her name was beautiful, too. _Far _better than Olette.

"If you mean her…"

"Roxas," she said sharply, and she watched his smile widen a little. She really wanted him to end her pain fast, and stop holding her hand so she could stop blushing.

"She's not my girl," he said simply.

She narrowed her eyes; how she hated liars. "I'm not _stupid_, o_kay_, Roxas? I see you with her every goddamned _day_!"

"What does that prove?" he asked softly. "You're with me every night."

She stuttered, trying to prove him wrong. "Y-you hold her h-hand and you…"

"Like this?" he asked, inclining his head to their interlocked fingers.

She glared at him desperately and then looked away, frustrated and wanting her hand back so she could run and call him a jerk in her mind and never forgive him.

He was too close and calm and sweet and true right now for her to be capable of thinking such things.

"We _were _something," he said, again so simply, "and now we're friends."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you."

"You think I'm the kind of guy to hurt her and go behind her back to be with you?"

She turned her attention to him sharply and found she had no words, no words at all, with which to give a reply. So she allowed her head to droop and then collapsed against him, strength fleeing from her body as a tear or two slipped down her cheek.

She would've run, had she been able, but he hadn't let her go for a second. She was his entirely, only he would never choose her, she knew that much.

They were friends like he and his perfection were friends; he'd made that clear enough.

But it killed her to feel his hand brush so gently and lovingly over her hair, killed her to feel him let go of her hand so he could wrap his arm around her and shield her from the chill. And she hated herself for gripping his white shirt between her hands and crying against him, hated herself for not pushing out of his arms and slapping him smartly across the face, which to any other guy she would've already done.

But Roxas was gentle, wasn't just "some other guy", and she was completely caught up in him. He was her star, her sun, her moon, and her sky, her entire world all in one person. He was her life, her freedom, her happiness, and she didn't want to let him go. But who was she to keep him fastened to her so selfishly, when all he wanted was friendship?

Finally, her thoughts bothered her so much that she pushed herself slightly from his arms, wiping his eyes with her arm and pushing his hand away when he tried to do the same thing. And he grinned a lopsided grin, catching her hand oh-so-carefully and rubbing his thumb soothingly across the skin, making her tremble at his affection.

She couldn't do this. He was driving her crazy.

"I need to go home," she said curtly, glaring at him as well as she could, knowing even _he_, the oblivious one, would see through her. And with that grin she knew he did, and she winced and pulled her stare from him.

His blonde girl wouldn't be so weak and pathetic, she bet. That much grace in a person ensured that.

But he, still clutching her fingers lightly, brought her hand to his lips and kissed it shyly, looking so sheepish as she stared back at him. And again a gasp escaped her lips and was heard, making him falter furthermore, so that he dropped her hand guiltily. He blushed and ducked his head down, blonde hair shadowing his eyes, left hand clenched into a fist at his side.

"Sorry," he murmured.

It was the opportune time to let go of him forever, was an okay time to leave because he thought he'd messed up, that he'd done wrong. She could run and he wouldn't follow, and things would be ruined completely so that their friendship could never be patched back up and healed. But instead she found herself doing the complete opposite, putting her hands on his chest and leaning up, touching her lips to his and closing her eyes tight so she didn't see his expression – in case it hurt too much.

And it _did _hurt, when he pulled back and she opened her eyes to see him staring back at her, looking so shocked. She fell back on her heels, looking away, shaking with suppressed tears, forcing _him _to leave this time, because she had tried, and she had failed. But no, he touched her gently beneath the chin, tilted her head up, and then kissed her back, and at first she didn't know what to think, she was so stunned. And then her heart soared and her tears fell, because she could be happy now, because he wasn't so unattainable it seemed, and because she could love him.

She could love Roxas, and it wouldn't be wrong.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned closer into him, letting him know just how happy he made her feel, under the stars and in a park's field that had brought hope back to her.

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The words in bold are from the translated version of the song, "Fields of Hope". 

So I hope you all liked it, and that it meets the criteria for the contest!


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